AT THE HUNT BALL
(The Sad Complaint of a Man in Black)
o Molly, dear, my head, I fear, is going round and round,
Your cousin isn't in the hunt, when hunting men abound;
A waltz for me no more you'll keep, the girls appear to think
There's a law been made in favour of the wearing of the pink.
Sure I met you in the passage, and I took you by the hand,
And says I, "How many dances, Molly, darlint, will ye stand?"
But your card was full, you said it with a most owdacious wink,